In recent weeks, the muse has inspired a number of metric poems–this one yesterday, as I mulled over Christmas Eve. hence:
Quietly Set Aside
Back in that day, a curse of shame—
Neighbors chattered, Such a scandal.
Disgrace shaded their tribal name,
Dung stuck to their family’s sandal.
Nighttime, at home, was no lit candle.
Someone told, and he was appalled.
Seeing her, he was confounded,
Turned to plane a beam, so galled,
Felt beguiled and surrounded—
Grabbed the beam, pounded and pounded.
What to do with his engaged bride?
It’s not mine! I’ll dishonor her—
Her Father’s standing and their pride.
He sighed, plucked from his cat a burr,
So perplexed, stroked until she purred.
I’ll not parade with public show;
I have no revenge to redeem.
It is enough everyone knows.
That night from a luminous beam,
An angel appeared in his dream.